


comfort (n.)

by CinderScoria



Series: comfort is a noun [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, escape the night - Fandom
Genre: Another one bites the dust, Gen, I just really like the aftermath I think y'know? gimme that juicy traumatic goodness, allll right I'm done lmfao sorry, another week another episode tag, anyway let my brotp sail you heathens, listen y'all knew this was coming don't even @ me, spoilers through s3e8, we all cried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: com·fort(noun.)1, a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint.2. the easing or alleviation of a person's feelings of grief or distress.3. a warm quilt.





	comfort (n.)

**Author's Note:**

> if Manny dies next like I think he will, there is a part two coming :)

Here’s the thing: they just don’t have the  _ time. _ And maybe that’s what’s messing Matt up the most about this—maybe it explains Nikita’s behavior, as well—because when it comes down to it, there are only a couple more hours at best before dawn, and they have one more artifact to cleanse. They’re running out of time to do much of anything, never mind argue. Never mind grieve.

Still, Matt can’t help but shy away from the rest of the group. He doesn’t belong and he knows it. They’re all rather close knit over there, and Matt has no one now. Even Calliope has left him to his own misery as he paces back and forth in front of the artifacts, trying to come with the different ways this could end and planning contingencies for each one.

(She’s a gentle soul, bless her, but she’s awkward and ill-equipped for this, and Matt’s almost whipped himself up in a state of frenzy, trying to drown out the echo of Ro’s dying scream.)

Besides, she has her hands full trying to figure out what’s wrong with Mortimer when he refuses to open up to her. She and Matt had discussed it earlier and she’d promised to keep an eye on him, and to come to Matt if she thought something had to be done about it. So far, nothing, but Matt knows that won’t last. This all feels far too much like a video game, and even though reality is unpredictable, he knew a future betrayal when he saw one.

So MatPat does what he does best. He theorizes, and he plans, and he paces like he can outrun the hollowness where a best friend used to be. Each time he pivots he leaves a bit of his head behind, his body already two steps ahead and his consciousness scrambling to catch up. It should be alarming, but it isn’t. He isn’t feeling much of anything right now, nothing but the drive to save as many of them as possible. Never mind the emptiness gnawing on the inside of his chest. Never mind the sudden black hole that’s erupted between his ribs. He keeps wrapping his arms around his middle, trying to forget the feel of Ro tucked into his side, sensing her presence all around him like an afterimage, a ghost pain he can’t cure. An ache he can’t soothe.

But if he works on trying to save everyone, if he can figure this out, he doesn’t have to think about that. And that’s all that matters.

“Matt.”

He hopes she finds peace. Even at the church, meeting the woman responsible for trapping the Carnival Master here, he’d known it wasn’t over, not for him. Some higher power had plans for him. He didn’t have a choice in coming back. At first he’d been grateful, but diving right back into this? Losing his closest friend?

Is it worth it? Is surviving this worth it?

He thinks of Stephanie, and he thinks of his unborn son. And he tries to believe it.

“Matt?”

A hand appears on his elbow as he turns to make another circuit. Long, glittery nails, soft bronze skin. Pink sleeves. Matt turns and frowns at Nikita. Her dark brown eyes watch him from under heavy layers of perfect makeup. There’s blood in her hair. He wonders if he should point it out.

“Matt,” Nikita says again—and his name doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, it’s obvious she’s not used to saying it. “You need to sit down before you burn yourself out.”

Matt hears the words but doesn’t comprehend them. Maybe it’s ‘cause they don’t sound like the Nikita he knows. Nikita isn’t gentle. She doesn’t treat people like they might break if she touches them.

Manny and Joey are talking quietly behind her, but Matt can tell by their body language that they’re aware of what’s going on. More likely than not, they’d sent her over here to try to talk to him. Why, though? There’s nothing more he can offer, not until the map decides to show the clue to the next artifact. And he’s busy mapping out contingencies, especially after the dirty look Manny had sent him when he’d pointed out that, mathematically, only three of them will be able to survive saving Everlock. One artifact left, four remaining Youtubers, it’s not that big a leap to make.

_ Not if I can find a way, _ he reminds himself.  _ Not if I can get us all out of here. _

Nikita’s still talking, and Matt’s finding it hard to focus. “...and you need to sit down,” she says, earnest, but with an edge. A threat, then. Matt really doesn’t have the energy to fight her off, so he lets her lead him over to the couch and instead tries to figure out why she’s being so… well, motherly.

He expects her to leave as soon as he sits, but instead she takes up residence on his left, tucking her go-go boots beneath her and resting her chin delicately on her hand, staring sleepily out at Manny and Joey. Matt watches her out of the corner of his eye, wondering where this is going. It kinda smells like a trap. Or maybe he’s overthinking things. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Stop shaking,” Nikita says suddenly. Matt looks at her in surprise.

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. I can feel it shaking the couch.”

Oh. Well then. Matt tries to quell the way his hands tremble, but it isn’t just his hands, and he’s not sure why he’s shaking anyway. He’s not cold (except he is), and he isn’t suffering from blood loss (unless you count someone who may as well have been a sibling ripped from you without a damn thing you can do about it). He’s tired, and he aches, but he’s fine, even when he’s not fine, because they can’t really afford to be anything  _ but _ fine right now.

Nikita sighs. She gets up, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and grabs the throw blanket from the couch. Without saying a word, she wraps it around his shoulders, and goes right back to sitting on his left as if nothing had ever happened.

The warmth seeps into him, and for some reason that’s what does it. Everything comes back in a rush. Matt’s breath hitches. It’s like being slammed back into his own body. The lag that existed between his head and the rest of him evaporates. Consciousness snaps back into place, along with every emotion he tried to outrun. Pain. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Guilt. Grief. They paint his gray skin in beautiful, vibrant shades, a myriad of colors he didn’t want or ask for. Back to being a person again, with all of its downsides, and right smack in the middle of the lion’s den.

He can’t afford to show weakness, not right now, not in front of these people. They won’t care, they won’t help him. The only ones who might have are gone now, taken by rules that change on a dime or his own  _ goddamn selfishness, Matt, you could’ve helped her, you could’ve waited, you could’ve— _

“Breathe.”

It’s not until Nikita mentions it that Matt realizes he’d been holding his breath. He releases the breath caught between his teeth and sucks in another lungful, but all it does is make his eyes sting and his heart ache.  _ Do not cry! _ he screams at himself. He can’t do this, not here, not in front of Nikita. Nikita, of all people, who’d mock him for it. Who’d think him weak and single him out in the next challenge. Well he won’t let her. He’s proven himself time and time again, and he can’t die again, he  _ will not _ die again—

“Matt.” Nikita’s dark eyes flick his way. “Breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he bites out through ground teeth, blinking rapidly, gaze fixed on the far wall.

“Don’t try,” she says. “Just breathe.”

“Thanks, Yoda.”

“Don’t get smart with me, homeboy,” she shoots back, but there’s no heat. There hasn’t been, so far. Matt’s too tired to try to figure it out. Also he thinks he might be having a panic attack.

“Breathe,” she says. “Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Hold it. Repeat.”

He wants to shoot her a look—he knows how to square breathe—but her tone isn’t condescending. It’s matter of fact, like she knows what she’s talking about. So he inhales for three seconds, holds it for three seconds, exhales for three seconds, holds it for three seconds. Eventually everything stops being so goddamn loud, and bright, and cold. Nikita talks as he calms himself down, about everything and nothing, a low murmur as she watches Joey and Manny getting really into whatever conversation they were having. If it weren’t for her soft, rambling commentary, it’d seem like she wasn’t paying attention to Matt at all.

When he’s finally calm enough to tune in to what she’s saying, he hears, “... my momma, bless her, ain’t the greatest at showing any kind of comfort, so I grew up kinda cold. Learned the hard way that any kind of emotion that isn’t being a stone cold bitch is gonna be used as ammunition for anyone who decides they don’t like you. So I learned not to feel things, and I was good at it, right up till I met Manny.”

“Nikita,” Matt interrupts when she goes to take a breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

She still doesn’t look at him, and it occurs to him that she might be observing Manny specifically, not the conversation he’s having with Joey.

“I almost lost my best friend an hour ago,” she notes calmly. “Scariest fucking two minutes of my life. I  _ hate _ feeling. I don’t know what to do with all that fear. We’re dying, Matt, and I think it took me right up until then to really understand that.” She falls silent for a second, then says, “I cannot… fathom a world without Manny in it. I’ve never had to before tonight.”

Oddly enough, this isn’t making Matt feel any better. “Yeah, well.” He tries not to sound bitter.

“I’m not great at comfort.” Nikita turns her head and looks directly at him. “But you are. You’re super weird, Matt. You’re like… like the big brother of the group. Always protecting, supporting, comforting. I didn’t think that had extended to me and Manny, or even Joey, but what you said earlier got me thinking.”

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” Nikita goes back to staring at Manny, softly admitting, “I don’t really understand, either. My point is, I think… that maybe Ro was to you, what you are to us. And now that she’s gone…”

Oh. Oh, he gets it now. And he feels… weirdly touched by the offer.

“Anyway.” Nikita purses her glossed lips. “Like I said, I’m not great at this. But if you need to talk about it…”

“We don’t have time to talk about it,” he points out.

Nikita shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smirks—because he can read between the lines, and if anybody’s making it out, it’s definitely Nikita. “I might take you up on that.”

She nods once, mission accomplished, and starts to rise, when he says, “Thank you.”

“Bitch please,” she responds immediately, tossing her blonde hair over one shoulder as she stands. “I’m just following your example, Boy Scout.”

“I was never a Boy Scout,” he calls after her as she struts back to her—their, back to  _ their _ friends. If she heard him, she doesn’t indicate it.

Matt sits back and thinks about how Ro would’ve loved this blanket. It’s strictly for show, there’s barely any weight to it, but it’s soft and red and reminds him of her.

Lots of things will remind him of her, he’s sure, if he gets out of this alive. She’s everywhere now—in anything even remotely gummy, in the icing on a cake, in the smell of strawberries in the springtime. In giraffes and Ferris wheels. In every song from every musical they ever sang together.

He’s still sad. But maybe now he’s allowed to be. Maybe Nikita isn’t all that good at offering comfort, but she offered permission. That’s all that really matters. Matt watches as she bumps hips with Manny, and Manny affectionately bumps her back, and a new kind of resolve takes residence in his tattered heart. He’ll save them all. He’ll figure out a way.

And if he can’t, and Nikita ends up needing to be comforted… then he’ll return the favor. But it won’t happen, because he’ll cheat. He’ll hack the game. He’ll make sure every last one of them escapes the night. It’s what Ro would’ve wanted.

Matt breathes and smells strawberries, and then he goes back to work.


End file.
